


Peerless

by NeurotropicAgentX



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Blow Job, Explicit Consent, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rare Pair, Resentment, Shared History, Space Fascists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 08:57:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9064996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeurotropicAgentX/pseuds/NeurotropicAgentX
Summary: Tarkin is assigned to oversee the final stages of the Death Star’s development, much to Krennic’s frustration. Still, maintaining a professional attitude toward the situation is important and Krennic is adamant about keeping things civil. Just so long as Tarkin doesn’t let their shared history interfere with his own judgements.





	

When Krennic received the missive that told him that Grand Moff Tarkin had been assigned to the Death Star, he got up from his desk to pace the confines of his quarters and rage. He’d known that the Emperor would send a high-level official to oversee the final stages of the Death Star’s construction, but to send _Tarkin_ of all people…

Beneath the missive was an addendum written by Tarkin himself. It was personally addressed to Krennic, requesting a meeting during the first night-shift when Tarkin would come aboard. Just enough time for him to undertake a preliminary assessment of the Death Star before the meeting. Tarkin would undoubtedly take the opportunity to unearth irrelevant and petty concerns about the running of the project. 

The final phases of construction had been going well now that Galen had been brought back. It was crucial that nothing interfere at this point. As much as Krennic disliked the thought of having Tarkin on the Death Star, he was almost certain that the Grand Moff was professional enough not to let their history influence him. 

So when the night-shift after Tarkin’s arrival began, Krennic made his way to Tarkin’s quarters with the intent of keeping things civil. He knocked at the door and it hissed open almost immediately. That was good. Krennic was used to officers that made subordinantes wait outside as a power play. At least Tarkin probably wasn’t interested in playing games.

‘Come in, Director.’

Krennic couldn’t help noting the size of Tarkin’s assigned quarters. Even this antechamber was about as large as Krennic’s bedroom. There was a plain table surrounded by uncomfortable-looking chairs to one side of the sitting room. Tarkin was already seated, facing the door. There was a bottle and two glasses on the table and Krennic eyed the setup warily as he approach.

‘I’m a little surprised to have you call on me like this,’ Krennic said bluntly as he sat down directly across from Tarkin.

Tarkin’s expression was difficult to read. ‘I believe in getting to know the major players in every command assignment I receive. That’s a less relevant goal between us, but I still wanted to see what sort of officer you’d turned into. It’s been a long time since the academy.’

‘Indeed,’ Krennic muttered. 

Tarkin picked up the bottle of Tarul wine. ‘Join me for a drink?’

Krennic pushed his glass forward and nodded curtly. Command generally had access to the best supplies, and it correlated with rank. Krennic took a large gulp from his glass, while Tarkin left his to breathe. 

‘Surely anything you want to know about my record is available direct to your datapad,’ said Krennic. 

‘True, but there’s more to an officer than their record, as I’m sure you’ll agree.’

Krennic stared morosely at his glass and took another sip. ‘I’m an excellent officer and my record speaks for itself. I’m sure those stationed under me would agree.’

‘Hmm, as an officer, perhaps, but the delays on the Death Star project hardly make for a spotless record.’

‘It’ll be worth it though. We’re close to being able to demonstrate its power and, as I’m sure you know, the progress in these last few months has been at a breakneck pace.’

‘We shall see,’ said Tarkin, finally picking up his glass. Krennic mirrored him and finished off his own drink, but kept the glass to hand.

‘You know, I looked over our academic records when you got promoted ahead of me,’ Krennic said, the alcohol loosening his tongue and the old indignity of their situation burning low inside him.

Tarkin raised an eyebrow at him. ‘That can’t have been easy… or sanctioned.’

Krennic’s hand tightened on his glass and he ploughed on. ‘There weren’t that many differences between us on paper, just minor differences across the disciplines. I did better at the shooting ranges, you did better at the obstacle courses. I had the better head for numbers, while your essays were better. Minor differences. What was most telling were the scores in tactical decision-making. They were identical. We consistently made the same calls, be it logistical problems, battle commands or even political situations.’

‘Is there a point to this?’ Tarkin asked in his measured, impassive voice.

Krennic bared his teeth. ‘My _point_ is that it’s obvious why you got promoted ahead of me!’ Krennic gestured with his empty glass. ‘It’s all about the presentation. The accent, the cold manner, the fact that you change your facial expression away from mild disdain maybe once a fortnight. You _looked_ like command material and that was enough.’

Tarkin sighed. ‘And you’ve managed to identify a valid concern that also completely misses the point. Of course appearance matters. Do you think soldiers take comfort from an emotional commander over a stoic one? The brutal reality of military conflict is death. The least an officer can do is be a reassuring presence to the troops. _They_ don’t know you or your tactical decision scores. All they see is an emotional leader making decisions that look like they come from a place that isn’t rational.’

Krennic slammed his glass down on the table. ‘Better to have a normal emotion once in a while, than to act like a droid. Are you even human?’

Tarkin’s thin lips tightened. ‘I can trace my entirely human lineage back several generations, can you say the same?’

‘You know what I mean,’ Krennic spat. He stared hard at Tarkin’s cold expression, but he couldn’t hold that gaze for very long. The anger burning in his gut gradually faded, leaving a hollow feeling in its wake.

The silence stretched for a long moment before Tarkin spoke again. ‘It’s a shame you still have such a strong… response to our situation. I did actually have an ulterior motive for calling you in to see me.’

‘And what was that?’ Krennic asked grudgingly, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Tarkin looked down at the glass he was cradling in his long fingers. He ran his thumb across the rim as he spoke. ‘I was wondering if there was anything left of our more positive history, though I suspect I have my answer,’ he said carelessly. 

Krennic’s eyes widened. The flare of heat evoked by Tarkin’s words was unexpected, perhaps even more so than the fact that Tarkin was bringing this up at all. ‘I wouldn’t think you’d be the sort fraternise with someone lower down the chain of command, but maybe things change?’

Tarkin’s lip twitched minutely. ‘Obviously I don’t abuse my power like that. I wouldn’t have thought that the rank-gap would matter so much to you.’ Tarkin fixed Krennic with a hard stare. ‘Although maybe that’s part of the issue for you. If rank matters so much to you, even behind closed doors, perhaps I could order you to your knees. Would you lick my boots, if I commanded it, Director?’

Krennic got to his feet again and leaned over the table. ‘That’s always been more your style with high command, Wilhuff.’

Tarkin held his ground. ‘And this is precisely why I propositioned you. I know that I could trust a “yes” from you, because your “nos” have always been so... emphatic.’

Krennic straighten up and turned his back on Tarkin. A part of him wondered why he didn’t simply leave. It would be a spiteful victory to deny Tarkin this petty desire. But the Grand Moff had also identified a problem that Krennic had with his own command station. This high up the chain, it _was_ difficult to find people appropriate to fraternise with. More than that, he did have a history with Tarkin. 

Krennic’s fists clenched at his sides and he turned around slowly to face Tarkin again. ‘Alright. I accept your proposition, but this is going to be on _my_ terms.’

Tarkin inclined his head. ‘As you wish.’ If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. 

‘Is that the door to your bedroom?’ Krennic asked stiffly.

Tarkin rose. ‘It is. Shall we?’

Tarkin’s bedroom was a lot like the rest of his quarters, austere and unadorned. The bed was wide enough for two, but only barely. This was despite the floor plan that would more than have accommodated something larger. Krennic turned to look Tarkin over. The Grand Moff returned his gaze steadily. ‘What would you like?’ Tarkin asked.

Krennic let out a slow exhale. There wasn’t any deference in Tarkin’s demeanour, but the sentiment behind it was enough to hit Krennic in a way he wasn’t entirely prepared for. What he wanted was to break Tarkin’s absurd composure, but he wasn’t about to admit it out loud. ‘I want you to take off your uniform.’

Tarkin gave a thin smile and started working at the clasps of his dress tunic. Meanwhile Krennic removed his shoes, gloves and cape, but not much else. He went over to the bed, passing close to Tarkin, and sat on the edge. When Tarkin had finished stripping down, he turned to face Krennic. ‘What now, Director?’

‘Get on your knees,’ Krennic ordered. He couldn’t replicate the cold unconcern of Tarkin’s orders and he wasn’t trying to. Instead he snapped the command and a wave of satisfaction rose in him when Tarkin went down. 

‘Is this what you were envisioning?’ Tarkin asked, exactly as composed as he’d be on the bridge of a ship.

Krennic ran his fingers through the neatly trimmed hair on the back of Tarkin’s head. With his other hand he undid the front of his uniform and pulled out his cock. He was half-hard merely at the sight of Tarkin kneeling at his feet. ‘It is. Suck me off.’ If his tone was more clipped than usual, Tarkin made no comment, instead he bent forward to wrap his hand around the shaft of Krennic’s cock and lick at the head.

Krennic’s breath hissed between his teeth and dug his blunt nails into Tarkin’s scalp. He knew from experience that directing Tarkin was a futile exercise, and that patience would be rewarded. A moment later, Tarkin stopped his teasing and starting sucking in earnest. Krennic groaned and spread his legs wider. The wet heat of Tarkin’s mouth was almost as compelling as having him like this, servicing him.

Tarkin didn’t take Krennic’s whole length into his mouth, instead he sucked on the head and moved his hand over the shaft. He kept his teeth covered and his lips tight around Krennic’s cock. The pace and suction was perfect. After all these years, Krennic wasn’t surprised by how well Tarkin had remembered his tastes. The man was a droid when it came to memorising details. 

Krennic’s breath was harsh and shallow and he tried to resist the impulse to thrust. The pressure of his hand in Tarkin’s hair alternated between an uncontrolled death-grip, to barely present as Krennic tensed and forced himself to relax by turns. The pleasure ran through him in an inexorable wave and it shattered his control.

Krennic was close. He remembered that Tarkin didn’t care to swallow and insisted on a warning. For a moment Krennic considered forcing the issue and pulling Tarkin closer just as he came. Then the barest hint of teeth grazed his cock. It probably wasn’t intentional on Tarkin’s part, and it wouldn’t make sense to treat it like a threat, but Krennic discarded his idea regardless. 

‘Tarkin…’ Krennic rasped and tugged back on Tarkin’s hair.

Tarkin pulled away and his gaze snapped up to Krennic’s face. His rhythm never faltered and his touch elicited a surging pleasure. Krennic rutted into Tarkin’s grip as he came. He tensed, his hand fisting in Tarkin’s hair. Tarkin kept working him through it and the feeling of that touch sparked down Krennic’s nerves until the intensity tipped from pleasure to discomfort. Tarkin stopped right on the edge of that pain and stood to retrieve something to clean off his hand. 

_Typical_ , thought Krennic as he came down from the high. He debated the merits of leaving now to spite Tarkin. It wouldn’t be in line with his decision to be civil, but it was tempting. Then Krennic traced Tarkin’s body with his gaze and was surprised to see that he was hard. ‘Enjoyed that, did you?’ Krennic asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Tarkin returned the mild look, the picture of unconcern. ‘It’s sex, my body takes its cues from that.’ The hint of condescension in Tarkin’s tone made Krennic clench his jaw. There was no way that Tarkin should be that composed while hard and in the middle of sex. Any thoughts Krennic had entertained about leaving without reciprocating evaporated. It probably wouldn’t even be that much of an imposition to Tarkin. He’d likely masturbate and consider the evening suboptimal, but broadly successful. 

‘Get on the bed,’ Krennic said.

For the first time that evening, Tarkin hesitated. ‘Are you going to remove any more of your clothes?’ he asked.

Krennic stared. ‘Is that what you want?’

Tarkin’s tongue was visible for a split second as he wetted his lips. It was impossible to tell if it was calculated or unconscious. ‘It is.’

Krennic forced his himself to relax before standing. He hadn’t even realised how much tension had been running through his body. Tarkin sat on the bed while Krennic stripped down. Of course Tarkin wouldn’t have to be reminded of an order, even if he was the one obeying it. He was also watching Krennic’s movements with his sharp gaze, cataloguing every detail. 

Once he’d finished stripping, Krennic walked over to the bed. Nothing in Tarkin’s expression changed, even when Krennic knelt in front of him and pushed him down against the covers. Tarkin stretched out on his back without protest, still watching intently. Krennic slung a leg over Tarkin’s thighs so he was seated just far down enough to avoid touching Tarkin’s cock. 

‘Do you want me to touch you?’ Krennic asked. He reached out, his hand stopping a hairsbreadth from Tarkin’s heated flesh. 

‘Yes,’ Tarkin replied as easily if they were discussing tactical matters. His hips stayed exactly where they were and he didn’t even try to close the gap between them to get some friction.

‘Perhaps you should ask nicely,’ Krennic prompted.

Tarkin’s expression shifted to something more sardonic. ‘Really?’ he drawled.

Krennic stared back, keeping his expression hard. 

‘Very well,’ Tarkin said after it became clear that Krennic wasn’t going to relent. ‘Please touch me, Orson. I want you.’ His tone stayed mild, but the words were enough to send a shiver down Krennic’s back.

Krennic ran his fingers lightly up Tarkin’s shaft and circled the head with one finger. Tarkin’s breath caught at the first touch, but his expression remained frustratingly neutral. Krennic dredged his memories, trying to recall exactly how Tarkin liked to be touched. Krennic drew his hand back and ran his tongue over the palm. Tarkin’s eyes were fixed on the movement and a faint flush rose in his face. This time when Krennic wrapped a broad hand around Tarkin’s cock, he got a soft groan for his trouble.

Krennic’s grip was tighter than he’d use on himself, but Tarkin’s hips twitched upward at the pressure and he put his hands on Krennic’s thighs in what appeared to be an unconscious gesture. Krennic used his free hand to cup Tarkin’s balls. He applied the lightest possible pressure on the next upstroke and Tarkin’s hands dug into the meat of Krennic’s thighs. 

Krennic redoubled his efforts, thinking back to all the little tricks he’d picked up regarding Tarkin’s preferences. A particularly twist of his hand on Tarkin’s shaft earned him a bitten-off curse. Tarkin’s teeth were digging into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The sight hit Krennic hard. His mind conjured an image of him leaning down to kiss Tarkin, and it was so vivid that he could almost taste blood on his tongue. 

It would be crossing a line, though, an intimacy that neither of them was looking for. It was enough for Krennic to see Tarkin’s composure broken, to see him twist and writhe like any human as he struggled to control his reactions.

‘You look good like this,’ Krennic said roughly. 

‘I’m glad you approve,’ Tarkin replied, missing his usual measured tone completely. He sounded raw, undone. 

Krennic sped up his strokes, paying extra attention to the pressure around the head of Tarkin’s cock. He wanted to see Tarkin come and give up those last shreds of that control. ‘You’re not going to last much longer,’ Krennic growled.

There was no reply this time, no attempt at posturing. Tarkin threw his head back as he came and bared his neck. His hips stuttered against Krennic’s hand in aborted thrusts and a low groan managed to escape his durasteel control. It was beautiful. Krennic surreptitiously wiped his hand against the bedcovers, knowing it would annoy Tarkin. With the length of time it had taken to get Tarkin off, Krennic had gotten hard again. He weighed up his options while Tarkin recovered.

‘I could help you with that, if you liked,’ Tarkin said. He was a little breathless, but his tone was collected. Trust him to take notice of someone else’s body so quickly, even in the wake of an orgasm.

‘Alright,’ said Krennic.

Tarkin patted his thigh. ‘Let me up, then.’ Krennic stared down at him and Tarkin managed to convey impatience without a single change in his expression. ‘Let me up _please_ , Director, if it matters so much to you.’

Heat surged through Krennic at the use of his title. The soft rolled R was almost a purr in Tarkin’s voice now. He swung off Tarkin’s legs and hoped his reaction wasn’t too obvious. Tarkin’s smirk suggested that he hoped in vain. There was no way to match that effortless control that Tarkin exuded. 

Krennic went down with nothing more than a hand pressed against his chest, but he dragged Tarkin after him. They rolled, and while Krennic wouldn’t quite let Tarkin get on top of him, they ended up with Krennic on his back and Tarkin pressed against his side. Tarkin’s long fingers caressed a path up Krennic’s inner thigh and wrapped around his cock, squeezing almost too tightly. Krennic gritted his teeth against the noise that rose in the back of his throat. A moment later Tarkin’s grip subsided and he started stroking in that efficient rhythm of his. It was just the pressure and speed that Krennic liked, of course, and he bucked into Tarkin’s hand. 

Tarkin pressed his lips against Krennic’s pulse-point before dragging his teeth up a straining tendon to bite at a sensitive spot just under Krennic’s jaw. Krennic hissed between his teeth and automatically tilted his chin up to give Tarkin more room to work. 

Hot breath gusted against Krennic’s ear as Tarkin leaned in close to speak. ‘Sir,’ he whispered, with just a touch of deference in his tone.

Krennic swore, his hips rising off the bed. It was a cheap shot, but all too effective. Pleasure lanced through him and all it took was a final twist and stroke to have Krennic spilling over Tarkin’s fingers. Krennic’s jaw tensed against the pitiful sounds that tried to escape from his throat as he bucked mindlessly into Tarkin’s hand, chasing the last dregs of sensation. 

Reality reasserted itself in fits and starts. The first thing that registered to Krennic was the way the sweat-soaked sheets were clinging to his back, closely followed by Tarkin’s smug expression. He scowled as Tarkin picked up a perfectly square piece of cloth and wiped off his hand with brisk, efficient movements. Krennic couldn’t help the way his mind latched on to the image, knowing exactly how that precision and grace felt applied to flesh and base desire.

Tarkin proffered the piece of cloth and Krennic snatched it up with ill-grace and wiped himself down. He dropped it on the sheets after he was done, just to see the flicker of a sour expression cross Tarkin’s face.

Tarkin looked back up at Krennic and proceeded to ignore the deliberate antagonism. ‘That was satisfactory,’ he said. ‘I would be amenable to further incidents like this… if you would.’

Krennic closed his eyes for a moment so he wouldn’t have to see Tarkin’s impassive expression. ‘I’d be amenable.’

‘Excellent. Is there anything else you require?’ Tarkin asked. It was the closest thing to consideration he ever gave. Krennic was surprised that Tarkin offered even that much.

‘No,’ Krennic said and snatched up the pieces of his discarded uniform. He dressed quickly, without looking up. It meant he couldn’t tell if Tarkin was watching or had already returned to whatever administrative matters needed a Grand Moff’s attention, but Krennic wasn’t about to check. His pride wouldn’t allow it.

‘Very well,’ said Tarkin. ‘Until next time, Director.’

Krennic didn’t bother replying as he left Tarkin’s quarters. The Death Star was nearly ready for active use. Once that happened, things would change and he would be instrumental in bringing order to the galaxy. Even Tarkin would have to acknowledge that when the time came.


End file.
